


trust is left in lovers after all

by faerie_ground



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bartender AU, M/M, Other, Physical Abuse, abuse not between main characters, refer to summary for more detailed trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_ground/pseuds/faerie_ground
Summary: Eggsy's boxed in by his circumstances, his job as a bartender, and Charlie. All that changes when a man with eyes as blue as the sky steps into the Black Prince.





	trust is left in lovers after all

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero excuse for this. I can't even say anything except I wanted to project my depression on Eggsy as much as possible and this monster happened
> 
> not included in my support group eggvid universe, this is a separate work
> 
> trigger warnings for: domestic abuse, graphic depictions of physical violence in relationships, ptsd. if there are any warnings I missed out pls do tell me in the comments

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

He’s not busy- he never is, delegating every fucking thing to Eggsy like he’s not the fucking manager of the pub. Eggsy’s too exhausted to retort or defend himself, dragging his aching limbs up again to approach the man who’s taken a seat at the bad counter. If he’s lucky, he thinks, he may even get a tip without Andrew noticing.

The man’s eyes are far away, he realises, distant and unseeing. He clears his throat, and the man does a double take. At this distance, he’s beautiful- blue eyes even more intense up close and the stubble coating his chin and cheek making his visage take on the look of a rugged ruffian. Eggsy clears his throat again, his cheeks heating up as he shifts his gaze to the left of the man’s ear. “Anything you’d like for today, sir?”

“Scotch on the rocks, please,” The man says. He taps his fingers against the table top in a one two rhythm, the nails clicking against the wood in time with Eggsy drawing out the glasses from the cabinet. It’s a quiet, slow evening, with a family tucking into fish and chips in a corner booth and a group of teenagers talking loudly over their grub. Eggsy is thankful for it- Dean’s gang usually takes over the entire pub, and on those days Eggsy doesn’t leave with his dignity or his physical well being intact.

“You’re not from around here,” Eggsy comments, as he slides over the drink and leans on the table top, elbows braced on the wood. He’s not usually this carefree, especially while in the Black Prince- but something about this man is making him lose his usual reticence. He can feel Andrew’s gaze wash over him, edging on the wrong side of scrutiny but for once, he can’t bring himself to care- he’s too interested in this man with his deeply blue eyes living a mile away from them. “I know everyone here- if you lived here, I’d know.”

“Very astute of you,” the man says, inclining his head slightly before taking a sip of the drink. He savours his scotch like a posh toff wine tasting at a high end bar, Eggsy thinks amusedly, eyes closed in bliss and hand a clenched fist on the tabletop. His words, too, are accented in scottish- definitely not from around here

“I’d like to think so,” Eggsy says flippantly. “Business?”

The man looks startled. “I- not exactly. I came here to- get away.”

It’s a strange response. Black Prince is situated smack opposite of Rowley estate in South London, a run down shack of a place with peeling walls and cracked cobblestones. Not exactly the height of luxury, and it’s beyond Eggsy to even think of why anyone would want to come here of their own volition. “Not exactly the Bahamas, mate,” Eggsy points out. He gestures at the windows, filthy with yesterday’s rain and clearly showing the still overcast skies. “Could have picked a lotta nicer places than this.”

“What would you have chosen to get away in, then?” The man says, an interested glint in his eye. Eggsy blinks. It’s been- a long time, he thinks, since someone’s ever asked him for his own opinion like this. Let alone even cared about his response- the man’s gaze stays on him, single minded and intense, and he finds that he has to look away.

“New York, maybe,” Eggsy says. “Full of Yanks, but I’ve heard the big Apple is pretty.”

“It is,” the man says, his eyes keen and twinkling. Already he’s given Eggsy far more attention than he’s ever gotten or probably deserves- it makes Eggsy’s stomach churn uncomfortably, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Rather packed, and not fun on a Friday night but it’s alright.”

So he’s been to the States, then. The mystery deepens, Eggsy thinks, staring at the dog tags hanging over his chest. “Which unit?” he asks, gesturing towards the tags.

Instantly the man closes up. It’s a visible transformation- his shoulders hunch up and his eyes shut down, turning cold and impassive. “Perhaps that is my business to know,” the man says, his voice sharp. This, Eggsy thinks as he too straightens up, is territory he’s familiar with. He swallows the old fear down and says, “It’s alright, mate. I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have asked.”

The man opens his mouth- presumably to speak, but Andrew calls him with a loud bellow. “Unwin, get over here!”

Eggsy swallows, ditching the dish rag on the. counter and approaching Andrew, only to have his forearm grabbed roughly and given a jerk hard enough to jostle his already sore ribs. “What,” Andrew hisses, “’ave I said about fraternisin’ with the customers?”

“To not do it,” Eggsy says sullenly, and Andrew releases his arm with a satisfied look in his squinty, pig like eyes.

“Keep that in mind, eh, boy?” he says, voice rough. “I’m only keepin’ an eye out for Charlie.”

Eggsy swallows, nodding. Andrew turns his attention back to the dollar bills and when Eggsy casts a glance back, there’s money on the counter and an empty glass. He goes to clear the table top, noticing how the money is stacked neatly next to the shot glass. If nothing else, Eggsy thinks, at least he’s figured out one aspect to that man.

*

Charlie had been sweet with him, in the beginning.

It starts when they’re in school. Charlie was infamous before he’d even started the first day of secondary, being the only son of the notorious Hesketh family, where the patriarch had been recently arrested for murder in connection to embezzlement of funds at a charity organisation. It was the most reprehensible of crimes and thus it made Charlie a legend, almost, in the eyes of awestruck eleven year old boys. The son of a murderer and a thief in one- he must have inherited some of those balls to be able to defy society straight in the eye, attacking the very heart of it with a heavy hand.

That first day, he’d sat his tray down next to Eggsy’s. “I got the apple juice by mistake,” he tells Eggsy. “Will you switch with me?”

Eggsy does, and then he notices Charlie’s water bottle- power rangers themed. “I think the black ranger is the best,” he tells Charlie, whose young, precocious face beams with the exhilaration of having found a like minded soul.

From then on, they’re best friends- tighter than Eggsy had been with Jamal and Ryan. Charlie’s incredible, in Eggsy’s eyes; a true leader, the bestest friend anyone could hope for, an intelligent soul. So what if he’s quick to shout and almost callously uncaring in the way he shoves people a little too hard and talks like he aims to hurt? Everyone had their bad days. His hands are clammy in Eggsy’s as they kiss behind the bleachers, sixteen and stupid, and his mouth is damp on the back of Eggsy’s neck as they fuck in the gym, Eggsy’s hand held to the locker doors by Charlie’s own rough ones like a promise.

He’s sweet with him in the beginning, Eggsy tells himself. He’s sweet with him as he brings him flowers after a fight that makes Eggsy’s lips bleed, he’s sweet with him as he holds Eggsy’s swollen wrist gingerly which he’d gripped a little too hard, he’s sweet with him as he fucks into Eggsy and declines each call by Jamal, by Ryan, by his mother. He’s sweet with him in the way honey is sweet on your tongue until the tenth spoonful, curdling and rotting the ends of it. He’s sweet with him until he’s all that Eggsy knows, and then he’s not sweet anymore.

And that- that’s really Eggsy’s fault, isn’t it?

*

The man comes again the next week, at the exact same time.

Andrew’s not around this time- Charlie had sequestered him away for some errand for the gang, and so Eggsy has the Black Prince all to himself. Tuesday morning and afternoon is a hazy, rushed mess, customers streaming in until Eggsy’s throat is raw from talking incessantly and his legs ache from running from one place to another. If Andrew had a lick of sense he would hire someone other than Eggsy too but he doesn’t, and the weight of it falls on Eggsy like a brick each and every time he’s left to fend for himself in the madness of supercilious customers thinking they know better.

This time, the man’s in a light brown jacket hanging open, the V of his white shirt hanging low enough that a few chest hairs poke through. Marlon Brando alright, Eggsy thinks, ducking his head to scrub at a glass again. When he’s gathered the courage to look up, the man’s sliding into the seat opposite his.

“Hullo,” The man says, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Scotch-”

“-on the rocks,” Eggsy finishes, and when the man looks surprised, elaborates, “I have an excellent memory.” _It’s hard to forget a face like yours,_ he adds in his own head. He’s- technically, anyway- with Charlie, he shouldn’t be having thoughts like these encircling his head.

“I’m grateful for that,” the man says, and then coughs slightly. “About the last time I was here- I was a tad bit rude. I apologise- I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Would take a lot more than that to get me in trouble with Andrew,” Eggsy says, waving a hand airily. No one’s ever apologised to him for something so minimal as accidentally snapping at him, either- much less a customer at the Black Prince. This man really is a mystery, he thinks. “Guess you couldn’t stay away? The scotch too good?”

“And the pleasure of your company,” the man says without missing a beat, and Eggsy’s heart trips over itself. God, even the look in his eyes, searing and all too blue, should be illegal. Eggsy’s cheeks burn bright, and he’s sure he resembles a tomato as he stammers, “One- one scotch, coming right up.”

“I was stationed in Afghanistan,” the man says, taking the shotglass from him and again, savouring it like it is the finest of wines. “I was 25, and dumb. I thought giving my life to my country would be the right thing to do.”

“Is it not?” Eggsy asks, curling an ankle around a bar stool and pulling it over. He’d wanted to go to the marines, too- before Charlie had found the application form and torn it to pieces.

“Not even close,” the man says, his lips twitching. It’s not exactly a smile, or a grin, but it’s something that makes Eggsy’s heart swell. “Biggest mistake- well, one of the biggest mistakes of my life, that.”

Eggsy opens his mouth- maybe to commiserate even if he knows absolutely jack about being in the army, or tell him that he’s not the only one to fuck up his life- when there’s a shout from the other end of the bar. “Oi, Unwin! Stop fuckin around and get me a gin you sod!”

The man winces. “Nice crowd.”

“If you’re gonna be here for a while you should know that this ain’t a tea party,” Eggsy says. “You came to the wrong neighbourhood to get away.” He avoids the overtly sincere look in the man’s eyes- again, too blue. Whose fucking genes did he get, bloody Poseidon’s? - and heads over to the opposite end of the bar.

When he’s done suffering insults with a blank look and serving them their gutter swill he comes back to find the man once again, gone with the empty shotglass and stack of money sitting on the counter. He’d left a hundred quid as a tip too, Eggsy thinks in shock, looking around furtively before pocketing the money in his back jean pocket. It’s far too much as a tip- Eggsy will have to talk to him about it if he ever sees him again.

It’s only when he’s closing up that he remembers he hadn’t even asked after the man’s name.

*

Lee Unwin dies throwing himself on a grenade to protect his infantry, blown so thoroughly to pieces Eggsy’s mother doesn’t even get a scrap of fabric back. What comes back fits inside a matchbox- they pretend it’s whole as the pallbearers lower the casket into the ground, Eggsy in a black shirt and trousers and wishing desperately for his dad to come back. His dad doesn’t, the casket remains closed and eventually, he’s told to throw the dirt on top of it. He doesn’t, running away instead.

He doesn’t remember much about the actual incident of running away. He’s told that he’d run so far his shoes got torn up, his toes bleeding. He hadn’t been crying, but his eyes had been red anyway. His breathing had gone dangerously shallow, and the man to bring him to the hospital had been Dean Baker.

It goes downhill from there. Michelle Unwin, frail and angry at her son for running away and endangering himself, takes one look at this saviour of a man and falls in love. Eggsy gets pushed to the side as the years go by, watching Dean morph from the epitome of salvation to the epitome of villainy, watching as Michelle dives deeper and deeper into the world of drugs and alcohol and vices, watching as Michelle lets Dean beat first her, and then her son black and blue.

Eggsy moves in with Charlie at eighteen, blood under his tongue and finger shaped bruises around his neck. He visits Michelle every week and endures her drug addled insults and barbs even if they cut with a power greater than any of Charlie’s blows can ever have. On one of these memorable, memorable occasions, Eggsy sits himself next to her on the moth infested couch as she palms the green bruise mottling his cheek and whispers, “Unwins- we make do.”

 _I don’t want to make do,_ Eggsy had wanted to say then, the fire lit low in his belly. _I want to live. I want to get away._ Michelle doesn’t hear him, lucidity fading from her eyes as they drift to the telly, the screen blank. Michelle probably stopped hearing him around the time Lee Unwin blew himself to smithereens for his fellow soldiers who probably didn’t give a flying fuck, anyway.

*

Only on the fifth visit does Eggsy finally know the man’s name.

For some reason, he keeps forgetting to ask him. He blames it on the eyes- they have the power to make you forget everything, after all. The man comes every Monday, always clad in a bomber jacket and always ordering one single scotch. He gradually stays longer and longer, declining Eggsy’s offer to refill his drink, content to just use his phone when Eggsy’s busy with customers. His gaze never leaves Eggsy, either- it makes Eggsy’s neck hot under the stiff collar of his shirt, his stomach somersault in a way it hasn’t done before.

Except with Charlie, in their early days of dating- and that thought always makes Eggsy come crashing down hard on the cold surface of reality.

The day he learns the man’s name, it’s a slow day. Yet again, Andrew isn’t around- off to run another drug related errand for Dean, he thinks. He’s talking to the man about how he’s settling into the neighbourhood- apparently just the day before the owner of the hotel he’s at treated him to dinner- when the man’s phone rings.

“I’ll have to take this,” he says with a grimace. Eggsy nods, getting up from the stool to move away when the man grabs his arm- it’s a quick movement, and Eggsy can’t be blamed for flinching instantly, tensing up like a rubber band drawn tight. The man releases him instantly, frowning. “It won’t take long,” he says slowly, glancing at Eggsy. There’s no sympathy in his eyes, just caution and it makes Eggsy feel immensely grateful for some reason. “Please, stay.”

Eggsy sits back down, and he picks up the call. “Budd speaking.”

When the call’s over, Eggsy clears his throat. “Your name’s Budd?”

The man looks amused. “No, David Budd. I was waiting for you to ask me.”

“You could have told me yourself,” Eggsy says, aggrieved. He’s not the most social person at any point of time in the Black Prince- despite that being one of the requirements of working as a bartender.

“I could have,” David says, looking slightly ashamed. “But I rather liked the anonymity.”

Eggsy blinks slowly. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Not- really,” David says, swallowing. His fingers tap on the counter again, in that same one-two rhythm. It’s familiar and repetitive, a comforting lullaby now. “I’m glad you don’t.”

The mystery deepens, and the tip of another question sits on Eggsy’s tongue. He swallows it down- no one’s ever liked it much when he asks questions, and he doubts very much that that will change now, with David. “Let me refill your scotch,” Eggsy says instead, already reaching for the bottle.

“No- no, don’t do that, come on,” David says, putting his glass out of reach. “I have to walk home today- wouldn’t want myself to fall into the bushes.”

“Two shots can sink you?” Eggsy says skeptically, arching an eyebrow. In response, David rolls his eyes and the motion shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“No, but one drink always leads to another,” David says, tapping the glass. “Why don’t you have a drink?”

“I’m on the clock,” Eggsy says ruefully. “Big man will kill me.” What Andrew would actually do, which is more effective than any pay cut could possibly be, is report back to Charlie who would then take his embarrassment at having such an irresponsible, incompetent boyfriend out on Eggsy. He’s got the scars on his thigh to prove it- that had been a lesson carved not only onto his skin but into the parts of his heart connected to Charlie.

“When you’re off the clock,” David persists, eyes keen. He reaches over, and gently, slowly places his hand over Eggsy’s. The movement is gradual enough that at any point Eggsy could have moved his own hand away- with the imprint of Charlie’s fingernails on his hip stinging as a reminder, he doesn’t. David’s hand on top of his is warm, and welcome, and he focuses his eyes on it, the fine black hairs lining the back of his hand. “Have a drink with me.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me out on a date,” Eggsy says, laughing. The thought is ridiculous. Who’d want him, a nobody bartender barely making ten quid a week slumming it in the estates?

“What if I was?” David asks, and Eggsy’s heart drops like a stone.

He should say no, he thinks. That’s the appropriate response- he has a boyfriend. A shit boyfriend but all the same, David doesn’t deserve to be bugged down with his baggage and history. David came here to get away from his own past, not be dumped right in another. The correct thing, Eggsy knows, would be to say no and say he’s already attached.

Eggsy swallows, and says, “Then I’d say yes to a drink, if you can stick around for two more hours.”

David smiles beautifically at him, and Eggsy flushes red, finding it hard to look back into his eyes but doing so anyway. He blames it on the eyes. Too fucking blue.

*

Around Charlie, Eggsy is cautious to an extreme. He never calls David, turns off all his notifications and rarely ever brings his phone to the dinner table because he knows if Charlie ever finds out, he won’t leave their dingy little flat in Churchill estate alive. They’ve only been on two dates so far but it comes with a dual layer of guilt and fear- guilt at duping David, fear of Charlie’s rage. This supremely high level of caution comes with a cost- it makes Eggsy shed it all with his close friends, sick and tired of protecting himself. That is the only excuse he can find for Jamal and Ryan finding out so easily.

They are in McDonalds, munching away on a Big Mac each when Jamal nods at his phone. “So, who the fuck is David?”

Eggsy nearly chokes on his burger. “Who the fuck is who?”

“David,” Jamal says patiently, while Ryan looks between them, nonplussed. “You were texting him and you were smiling. Haven’t seen you smile like that since- well, ever, actually.”

“Who told you to look at my phone while I was texting?” Eggsy says sharply, but he knows Jamal won’t pay it any heed- neither of them know what boundaries mean. It’s how they’d found out about what a shithole Charlie really was to him in the first place.

“So who’s he?” Jamal presses. “New bartender?”

“The day Andrew takes on a new bartender other than me will be the day the sky shits gold,” Eggsy says, scratching the back of his hand. Charlie had put out his cigarette on it for no fucking reason and although he’d liberally applied aloe vera it still hurt like an absolute bitch. “No, he’s just- a customer.”

“A customer you text smiling like you never have with Charlie?” Ryan says skeptically.

“Anyone not Charlie makes me happy,” Eggsy says sullenly, reaching for his fries. “It’s not exactly a feat to make me smile.” It’s a bold faced lie and everyone at the table knows it- they know how Charlie chipped away at each little bit of Eggsy’s dignity and self pride until all he had left was a shadow of himself, thoroughly used and then discarded to the side.

“Does this David know you’re with Charlie?” Jamal asks, ever the rational one. He raises his eyebrow, staring steadily at Eggsy, who keeps silent. The guilt is a thick cloud, almost palpable in its tension.

“Jesus, Eggsy,” Ryan says in disbelief. “He doesn’t deserve that- Charlie does, the asshole, but he doesn’t.”

“He’ll leave,” Eggsy says, his voice breaking as he throws the soggy fry down. He can hardly recognise his own voice in his panic, the threads of it falling apart as he tries not to completely let go of his entire state of mind and fails horribly. “He’ll leave me to Charlie like everyone else does, he won’t talk to me anymore, and then-”

“He’ll talk to you,” Jamal says, and then nods towards his phone. “You just got five messages from him the minute you set your phone down. He cares, Eggsy.” He reaches over and carefully sets a hand over Eggsy’s own, the movement slow. From past experience they’re well aware of the fact that Eggsy does not deal well with rapid, sharp movements. “Come on, be honest with him. And for the love of god, break up with Charlie already.”

“I can’t,” Eggsy says helplessly. “You know I can’t.” It’s an old argument of theirs, rehashed every time they meet and every time Jamal sets his eyes on a bruise left behind by Charlie. Jamal never wins it because if there’s anything at this point that Eggsy prides himself on, its his stupidly stubborn nature.

“You have to tell David,” Jamal says quietly. “For your sake as much as his.”

Eggsy wants to tell him he’s wrong. That David won’t mind, that this little dalliance is hurting no one, that Charlie deserves to be fucked around on like this for all the pain he caused Eggsy. Deep down, though, is the inherent inkling that Jamal is absolutely right in every sense of the word- David deserves better than his lying, scum of the earth ass yanking him around like this. David deserves the world- only two dates, and he’s already got Eggsy eating out of the palm of his hand.  David doesn’t deserve Eggsy treating him like an outlet for all the rage he feels with Charlie, and he definitely doesn’t deserve any share in the soap opera mess that is Eggsy’s life.

“I’ll tell him,” Eggsy tells Jamal. “Soon.”

*

Eggsy doesn’t make it a point to Google David’s name or anything, because he wants David to tell everything about himself on his own terms. David deserves that privacy, at least- Eggsy’s being a complete dickhead to him so at least he can give him that. It therefore, comes as a complete and utter surprise to him when David tells him he has kids.

“Two of them,” David confirms, fishing out his phone and turning it on. The lock screen is of two adorable little blonde kids giving the camera a toothy smile. “Ella and Charlie, they’re six and seven. The best kids a guy could ask for.”  They’re both at a park bench on the better side of town, eating ice cream in front of the pond. Its fairly late at night too which means that no one is at the park other than them, making the ambience of it feel isolated and rather like it’s on a whole other planet. After hours spent manning a bar, its refreshing to feel the seclusion.

“I hope this isn’t- a dealbreaker-”

“No, no,” Eggsy says hastily, wanting to say anything to wipe that worried look off David’s eyes. “It’s not at all, I’m just surprised, is all.”

“I was an idiot in high school,” David says, lips twitching. “Got Vicky pregnant far too fast, went to army to earn fast cash and regretted it.” His hand comes up to finger the dog tags, a far away look entering his eyes. It’s something he always does when he’s talking about his army days, Eggsy realizes- a nervous tic, perhaps. “Ruined my own life, but- I’ve never regretted Ella and Charlie.”

“Where are they now?” Eggsy asks, leaning against his shoulder. The night air around them is chilly, making goosebumps rise on his arms. Ice cream had been a bad choice.

“Up north with their mother,” David says, slinging an arm around him to hug him closer. The added warmth makes Eggsy exhale in comfort as he finishes off his ice cream. This, too, is unfamiliar to him. “Haven’t seen them in-” he swallows noisily, and says, “Ages.”

“I think they would be happy to see you,” Eggsy declares, and when David makes a non-committal noise, persists, “I’m serious. Nothing like your dad, you know. If my dad was around-” he pauses, then, and doesn’t continue. David probably won’t want to hear about his dad.

David twists around until he’s looking right at him, arm still around him. Eggsy doesn’t turn to look at him, eyes fixed firmly on the ice cream stick in his hand. He knows if he does, he’ll lose his resolve. “If your dad was around?”

“Then I’d spend every last second with him,” Eggsy whispers into the stillness. His heart is pounding like a racehorse, a wildly fluttering thing. It feels like he’s been flayed alive, opening up this bit to someone that he’s never opened up before- not even to Charlie.

David pauses, and then says hesitantly, “If you don’t mind-”

“Army,” Eggsy says. “Top secret military operation in Iraq gone tits up. Nothing anyone could do, but we didn’t even get his body back.” He wipes at his face angrily. What is it about Lee Unwin, he wonders, that even mentioning him can make him feel like that ten year old running, running, running down the street until his feet turned bloody? “That’s not important, anyway. I’m sure Ella and Charlie are lovely.”

David’s staring at him with a serene, unreadable look in his eyes. He then presses a kiss to the side of his head, soft and barely there, before rubbing his shoulder a little and saying, “I want you to meet them, some day.”

“I’m not the kind you bring home to meet your kids, David,” Eggsy says sardonically. “I ain’t respectable.”

“You’re respectable enough for me, you prat,” David counters, rolling his eyes. “And they’d love to meet you.”

Eggsy is silent, staring at David’s profile, animated and excitable at the thought of bringing Eggsy home to meet his kids and his ex wife and his perfect little picket fence family. It just reminds him of the ticking clock hanging over his head, that what they have together has a deadline that rushes closer and closer with every second.

 _Tell him,_ Jamal says.

 _I will,_ Eggsy thinks, looking at the way David’s eyes light up as he talks about how Charlie had once tried to convince him that a treehouse would be a good investment. _Just not yet- let me enjoy this for a while longer._  


**Author's Note:**

> the next update is gonna be in two weeks because i'm going on holiday
> 
> as always, you can hmu at honkydancer on both twitter and tumblr


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